"You can betcher life that I'm all right, madam, if it comes to that. But I don't reckon that you'll take me on my say-so. You'll be wanting some sort of proof of me before you consent to take me into the fold."
"I'm ready for anything."
"You have told me that you are a penman, which means that you could be a forger; you have said that you are a mechanic, which means that you could crack a crib if necessary; you called yourself a druggist, which means that you know how to use the chemicals, and the poisons, too, if necessary; and you would not refuse to tackle a bank job if one should come your way. Do you happen to have the mark of blood against you, too?"
"I don't suppose there is any mark that I haven't got."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"Well, I wouldn't stay in a house if I wanted to get out when a live man stood in my way, if that is what you mean."
The woman turned to Handsome quite suddenly.
"What time do you start?" she asked of him; and he replied, as if the question were a continuance of their conversation:
"I ought to start now—inside of ten minutes."